Erotic short. Some piss kink between a boss and his assistant.
500w, just some cockwarming, watersports, and D/s.
“Good boy,” says Lucretius softly, and Ano feels the cool wood under his knees, feels the weight of his own hands in his lap, feels the weight of Lucretius’ still soft cock on his tongue, filling his mouth. Lucretius fills him almost to the brim, surrounds him — it’s not just Lucretius’ cock in his mouth but Lucretius’ thighs either side of his heat, the heat of them touching Ano’s cheeks, his whole body neatly bracketed by Lucretius’ own; it’s the scent of him, the floral sweetness and fresh cotton that cling to his clothes, the faint ghost of the soap he uses on the flesh of his belly and his thighs; it’s the sound of his slow, even breathing, the sound of his hands on the keys as he types.
Ano doesn’t know how long he’s been here, under the master’s desk, resting on his knees with his backside settled back on his heels, sweat on his own body. His cock is half-hard and has been for what feels like the whole time, his arse clenching around nothing at all as he thinks about having Lucretius’ cock inside him, Lucretius bending him over the desk and fucking inside him.
He can’t see the clock. He doesn’t know how much of the day is still to go, how much is still stretching out before them, how much time spans between the now and the soon, when Lucretius will bend him over and split him open the way he craves, the way he needs.
“I don’t have time to waste on this project,” says Lucretius softly, and he touches Ano’s cheek, slowly strokes the pad of his thumb against the line of Ano’s cheekbone, touches against the side of his mouth where it’s stretched around Lucretius’ cock. “You understand, don’t you?”
That’s all the warning Ano gets before he feels the first drip of hot piss down his throat, and he whimpers and tries to pull back reflexively, but Lucretius grips him by the hair and holds him in place, and Ano is so hard he feels like he could come just from this.
He tastes it on the back of his tongue, hot as steam and acrid and bitter as he sinks Lucretius’ cock back in him to the root and gulps and swallows around the stream of it, swallowing it down and feeling how hot the master’s piss is as it sinks down his throat.
He feels so full up with it his head spins, not just surrounded by Lucretius but utterly full with him, serving him completely, and his hand twitches with the want to touch his cock, to reach for himself, even just to grind down against the wood floor, but he doesn’t, not without Lucretius’ work.
“Good lad,” says Lucretius faintly — he barely sounds like he’s paying attention to him. “Not long now.”
“How long?” Ano doesn’t ask — it doesn’t matter.
He’s at Lucretius’ mercy, for his use entirely, and that’s what makes the pleasure so sublime.
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